Who's Your Daddy? (16 page)

Carmen pulled out a piece of paper, and as she unfolded it, said, “She found a changing table that must have been four hundred bucks.”

Donovan clicked his tongue. “Jesus, that has to be one of the biggest rackets on the planet.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

He nodded. “You’ve got a kid that needs to be changed, the last thing you’re going to do is cart him off to another part of the house to make sure you take care of it on the special, designated piece of furniture.”

Carmen smirked. “So, what does the baby guru suggest, then?”

“You want a place that’s convenient, flat and absolutely no risk of the kid falling off and getting hurt?” he asked. When she nodded, he pointed straight down and tapped his foot for emphasis. “The floor.”

“Is that going to be comfortable for her?” I asked. “I mean, right after she has the baby?”

Carmen shuddered. I put a hand on the small of her back, and she offered a faint smile. I didn’t have to ask what part of this whole thing worried her the most at the moment.

Donovan’s tone was gentle when he went on. “There is that, but that’s what you and I are here for. And Carmen, if one of us isn’t around, there are still plenty of places. A bed, a couch, whatever. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to do it on the kitchen table or something, but just throw a couple of towels or a blanket down, and you’re good.” He grinned. “You just don’t need a four-hundred-dollar changing table.”

“Good to know.” She unfolded the list and scanned it.

He craned his neck to read over her shoulder. “A diaper wipe warmer?” He laughed. “Really?”

Carmen eyed the list, then looked at him. “I’m going to say that actually sounds like a good idea, but you’re probably going to bust that myth, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Give me your hand.”

She held out her hand and he clasped it between his. After about ten seconds, he said, “Hand warmer than it was before?”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“Has the same effect on diaper wipes. Hold it in your hand for about ten seconds; it’s warm.”

She laughed. “I feel really stupid now.”

Donovan kissed her cheek. “Don’t feel stupid. These companies live to manipulate you into thinking you need everything they sell. I didn’t know any of this shit before Ryan was born.”

“Well, we get to save money because of your hard-earned wisdom,” I said, chuckling.

“Yes, yes, you do,” he said. “And you’d both better be damned grateful.”

Carmen put a hand to her chest. “Oh, we are, Don. We so are.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Was that sarcastic?”

“Me? Sarcastic?” She batted her eyes. “I would never be sarcastic.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Careful, Don,” she said. “I’ll start crying just to make you feel guilty.”

He shook his head. “Won’t work.”

“You sure?” She sniffled. “I’ve got hormones on my side now.”

“Don, don’t push her,” I said in a stage whisper. “You could trigger a chain reaction with every woman in the store.”

“Hmm, good point.” He kissed her cheek again and murmured, “Okay, you’re not sarcastic.”

“Actually, I am.” She elbowed him hard enough to make him grunt. “So, next item on the list?”

Donovan muttered something and snatched the list from her. He scanned it while we continued walking. “Bibs. Now there’s something completely pointless.”

“As long as you have ample amounts of that worshipped detergent, right?” I asked.

“Fuck no,” he said. “Make sure the room’s warm enough, strip the kid down to a diaper, put an old shower curtain on the floor under the high chair and let him make a mess.”

Someone nearby gasped. Carmen and I looked at each other and snickered. Donovan glanced in the direction from which the horrified sound had come and raised his voice slightly when he continued.

“Then you just take the kid and the shower curtain out to the backyard and hose them off.”

“Or just let the dog clean him off,” I said, struggling to keep a straight face.

Carmen covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oh God, we are so getting thrown out of here.”

“Most likely,” I said.

“I give it ten minutes,” Donovan said, and we kept walking.

As we approached the car-seat aisle, he stopped, gesturing toward the display. “That’s something you actually do need. Non-negotiable. In fact, I’d suggest we get one for all of our cars.”

“Seriously?” Carmen said. “I mean, I’m all for getting one, of course, but three?”

“He’s got a point,” I said. “You ever tried installing one of those little fuckers?”

“Hmm, good point.”

I thumbed my chin. “I don’t have to put one in the Mustang, do I?”

“Oh, of course not,” Carmen said, trying not to smirk. “God forbid you lose any cool points by putting a car seat in your toy.”

Donovan snickered. “That reminds me, actually. The Mustang’s hood is flat and wide, so it’d be a perfect substitute for a changing table.”

A choked sound escaped my throat, and they both burst out laughing.

Then Carmen gestured at one of the car seats. “Oh, hey, check it out. Cup holders on a carseat.” She looked at Donovan and grinned. “That means the kid can hold my beer, right?”

A gasp from a few feet away had me pressing my lips together to keep from cracking up, but Donovan just threw me a disgusted look.

“Carmen, darling, it is not appropriate to have your baby hold your beer in the car.” Beat. “That’s a good way to wind up with a spilled beer.”

“Oh,” she said with exaggerated seriousness. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

He sniffed indignantly. “Some responsible parent
you
are.”

“Whatever,” she said. “I’ve never done this before.”

Donovan patted her shoulder. “Never fear. You have me and all of my years of experience to make sure you are well-prepared to screw up this kid.”

“Oh, whatever would I do without you?”

He beamed. “I live to serve.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “You’re
such
a gentleman, Don.”

I snorted. “Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

He chuckled. “Okay, what’s next on this list of doom?”

Carmen scanned the sheet in her hand. “What about strollers? My sister swears I need to drop some serious money on one, but every one she picked out is the size of a school bus.”

Donovan shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m no expert in that field. At least not with a baby.”

“Really?”

Donovan nodded. “Ryan wouldn’t tolerate one until he was like two years old.”

Carmen blinked. “So, you just carried him everywhere?”

“Pretty much. He was fine with car seats, fine playing by himself at home or being in his crib, but damn if he wouldn’t freak the fuck out in a stroller.”

“Any idea why?”

Donovan shrugged. “He was just clingy, I guess.”

“That must have been exhausting,” she said.

“A little.” He paused, and a smile that bordered on nostalgic spread across his lips. “To be honest, there
are
worse things in this world than a baby who wants to be held all the time.”

Wiping away a phantom tear, Carmen said, “Don, are you getting sappy on us again?”

“Shut up before you make yourself cry for real again.”

“Watch it,” she said with a playful glare, “or I’ll make you cry.”

He put his arms out. “Bring it on, darlin’.”

She kicked him squarely in the shin, and he cursed. Smirking at him as he gingerly rubbed his shin, she folded her arms across her chest and said, “That’ll teach you.”

“Bitch,” he muttered. “That’s assault and battery, you know.”

She leaned a little closer and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And just bear in mind: for the next several months, there isn’t a jury in the land that would convict me.”

“She’s got you there, Donovan.”

He glared at me. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Hey, she’s dangerous.” I put my hands up. “I’m not squaring off against
those
hormones.”

“Hmm, smart move,” he said.

She alternately glared at each of us. “You’re both treading on thin ice.”

I pointed at Donovan. “He started it.”

“No, I did not,” Donovan said. “It was—”

“You two both want to go sit in the car?” Carmen asked, pointing toward the parking lot.

Donovan and I both folded our arms across our chests and threw each other the most petulant glares we could muster. Then all three of us burst out laughing again, and I had no doubt there were more disapproving looks coming our way.

As we regained our collective composure, Donovan put his arm around Carmen’s waist.

“So, do you feel better now?” he asked.

She nodded. “Much. I think I might get through this without going bankrupt.”

“You weren’t going to go bankrupt anyway,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have us too, you know.”

“True,” she said, avoiding both our eyes. “Still, good to know the baby won’t need quite that much crap.”

“No, definitely not.” Donovan kissed her forehead. “Now what do you say we get the hell out of here before I have a fluorescent-plastic-induced seizure?”

Chapter Twelve

Carmen

After we escaped the sensory overload of that store, Isaac, Don and I lingered beside our cars. As we shot the breeze, they kept exchanging glances, something unspoken passing between them like it often did.

Then Don looked at me. “Do you want to come back to our place? Hang out for a bit?”

Isaac leaned against his car in a failed attempt to look casual, but his nerves revealed themselves in the tension in his shoulders and the creases in his forehead. Reading between those lines, I didn’t have to ask if the invitation was for more than just watching a movie and hanging out. I shifted my gaze to Don and scrutinized his own little tells: the slight lift of his eyebrows, eyes darting toward Isaac’s before meeting mine again, the almost invisible fidgeting as he probably tried not to shift his weight.

I moistened my lips. “I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow, so, sure.”

They undoubtedly tried not to show it, but they both relaxed and released their breath.

Don pulled out his keys. “Guess I’ll meet you guys back at the house.”

“See you there,” Isaac said, taking his own keys from his jacket pocket.

I swallowed. “Yeah. See you there.”

We all got in our respective cars, and, like our own little convoy, left the parking lot. Don led, I followed, and Isaac was right behind me. At least I was alone in my car. That way they couldn’t see the way I drummed the steering wheel or hear me sing—badly—along with the radio just to give myself something to do. Just like they’d tried not to show their nerves in the parking lot, I tried not to think about where we were going or why.

Not that I was opposed to it. Not in the least. There was just something odd about all but planning it. It wasn’t just sex that happened in the heat of the moment. This was premeditated now, with a twenty-minute drive to give everyone a chance to have second thoughts. Especially those of us who’d been raised to understand that any sex that existed outside of marriage—and marriage meant a woman having children for her powerful, successful white husband from a good family—was wrong, wrong,
wrong
.

I could tell myself the other two times just happened. And they did. The first time, we were too drunk to care what anyone else might think. The second time, screwing around was easier than addressing why we were screwing around or what had happened the last time. And the night alone with Isaac was…it…oh, hell, I didn’t know where that fell into the grand scheme of rationalizing, but it had happened, and I’d liked it.

Tonight, there was no alcohol, no heat of the moment, no topics to avoid by occupying our minds and mouths with other things, no birthday experimentation. We wanted this. Plain and simple.

But so wrong
, some little voice in my head protested.
Why are you doing this to yourself, Carmen?

Watching Don’s taillights ahead of me, I gnawed my lower lip. Was this a good idea? Being single and pregnant already put me well onto the “slut” end of the spectrum in my mother’s eyes. Or it would when she found out, anyway. Going back for more and more of Donovan and Isaac, that just meant more scarlet letters on my forehead. One time, I could call it a moment of weakness, repent and dutifully raise my baby alone until the man of my mother’s dreams came along to make an honest woman out of me. Two times, no one needed to know. But continuing it? Even if no one else knew, I would know, and I had over three decades of brow-beating to remind me why I shouldn’t do this.

On the other hand, why the hell not? It wasn’t like I’d find anyone willing to date me in the near future. I wasn’t interested in a relationship right away, and if I was going to sleep with someone without pursuing something else, I was infinitely more comfortable with a trusted friend—or two—than a stranger. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. This was none of their business. After being miserable with Paul the last few years, in part because I didn’t want to upset anyone or make waves by leaving the jackass, I wasn’t going to apologize for something that went against the status quo but meant I was finally being treated like a human being between the sheets.